The Dance of the Seven Veils
by Lithium Choker
Summary: AU Hermione thinks she knows how to conquer death, but she needs someone's help. HGSS BEING REWORKED AS NEW STORY: HADES DANCE.
1. Prologue

**The Dance of the Seven Veils **

**Summary**:

Set eight years after graduation. Why eight? I like that number. It's your average take on boy meets girl, boy puts up with said insufferable know-it-all's presence for 7 years (and then some), boy starts to notice girl and whether they live happily ever after or not is not yet decided.

This story brings some fresh meat to the table. I have not yet read a fan fiction relating to the story of _Ishtar_, and even then I've modified it to suit myself. I know next to nothing about Sufism so don't take any mention of it seriously. I just wanted to merge magic with mythology in a fic.

**Again, this is writing practice only. I would appreciate comments on style: methods of improvement or aspects which you found appealing. **

**Disclaimer: **I'm not going to write one. Honestly, the site is called FanFiction . net!

O

A lone figure was panting, struggling to fight her way through the thick growth of trees. Clad in a long cream-silver nightgown and with long curls flying.

Hermione raced through the forest, heart pounding, trying to find her way out. Once she got out of the forest she could kick off her slippers and run faster. Her smooth hands were roughly ravaged by twigs leering at her. Her breathing was heavy but she knew she could outrun the creature behind her.

Leaping over a stump, wind catching her hair, she passed under a patch of stars… a sign that she was near the edge of the forest. A rush of energy spread through her and she charged forward.

The eyes on her back narrowed.

She looked over her shoulder and grinned at the animal.

"I'd like to see you catch me, Sirius Black! We're almost there!" She stuck out her tongue at the dark dog close on her heels. The dog growled playfully and gathered speed too.

Suddenly losing balance, Hermione tripped over herself and tumbled straight out of the forest into the moonlight. She tried to scramble to her feet but a black furry streak flew through the air and the next moment she found herself winded on her back with heavy paws on her shoulders. He panted heavily in her face and gave off two loud barks.

Hermione winced against his breath, raising her arm to her nose and giving him a mischievous look.

"No Sirius... You haven't won yet... I didn't claim to give up!" At her last word she roughly tried to push him off of her with her strength, but only succeeded in managing to roll the both of them over.

Trying a different tactic, she tried to crawl away, kicking him away but the tugging on her dress held her back. She glared at him over her shoulder. He was lying on his stomach, teeth deep into the hem of her clothes, growling.

Taking a firm grip on the bunch of cloth she yanked hard to tear it from his teeth. Sirius was slid forward and paw-shaped groves were dug into the soil. His muscles remained perfectly taught and his growl the same pitch.

She got to her feet, with him still hanging onto her.

Lowering her face to his, she threatened: "Don't make me sit on you, I could crush you like a bug!" defiantly, wagging her finger at him. His furry brows drew together before Sirius barked what she was certain was a laugh.

Free again, Hermione bolted for the castle shadowing them without looking back, but felt herself pushed to the ground again and flattened by a set of huge paws. Fighting for the fresh night air, she gasped, "Sirius... You're hurting me..."

The weight on her back immediately lightened as he leapt off her hurriedly. She clambered to her feet slowly and the dog sat with his tail between his legs, whining and giving her an apologetic look. She brushed some of the dirt from herself and shook her hair. Then she looked Sirius hard in the eyes.

"You're too much of a gentleman," she said solemnly then grinned and ran for the castle.

Sirius' ears took a second to prick up in understanding before he leapt up and bounded after her through the thickening grass. She laughed and grinned at him over her shoulder then turned to look to the castle.

Something made her stop dead with a wide-eyed, open-mouthed look of surprise on her face.

A couple of seconds later, Sirius was on top of her again.

O

It had been sheer coincidence that Snape had been patrolling the courtyard looking for unsuspecting victims when a movement caught his eye at the edge of the forest. A woman in a pale-colored dress just fell out of the wall of trees.

For a moment he was confused before, between the stone arches, some black creature pounced on her.

He immediately slipped into his attack mode. Hesitating less than a second he swept through an arch and across the slopes, at the speed of a run. His cloak took flight on the night air. His fingers were curled over his wand...

The girl had escaped the beast and was running in his direction. His eyes narrowed.

He stopped at the highest point of a gentle slope and took aim with his wand as it gained on the girl. She suddenly saw him standing before her with his wand and he knew her instantly. Both momentarily froze. The dog, for he now saw what it was, leapt at her back again.

Overcoming the surprise rapidly, he tried to aim his wand at the dog without hitting her while it barked triumphantly.

"Professor!" she gasped, "Don't!" Snape was understandably baffled, and, as was his nature, slightly miffed. He frowned further, remaining tense and aiming his brandished wand. The dog stopped barking and caught his eye.

As he watched, the dog melted into a grown man in the moonlight, growing into a tall silhouette.

"Black!"

"Snape," Sirius replied coldly with an icy nod. He leant to grip Hermione's hand and help her to her feet. She didn't let go of his hand and tried to shift herself slightly in front of Sirius because Snape had not lowered his wand. She didn't like the look of his slight snarl that radiated pure loathing.

"Would you kindly," he choked on the word, "explain what is going on? If you were harming her then I am well within my rights..." he didn't finish his sentence but his eyes spoke for him.

Hermione's countenance darkened.

"Save it Snape..." she snapped. "You can lower your wand. I am in no danger. I was going for a walk with Sirius and although I appreciate your concern I would like you to leave us now." She spoke with a straight back and demanding air even though she had twigs in her hair and dirt smudges on her face.

His black eyes were no more than slits through which he aimed death wishes at her and the man behind her. He reluctantly relaxed his pose and lowered his wand but did not stow it away.

"On second thoughts, would you escort me to my chamber?" without waiting for his answer (which was no more than a sneer), she turned to Sirius. "You should return home before you are missed. We'll meet soon." Sirius nodded.

Snape watched contemptuously as he morphed back into the mutt he was and ambled back in the direction of the leering trees. His black eyes fixed on the woman who watched him off. She gazed fondly in the dog's direction and his lips twitched as he held back a snarl.

"Shall we then, Granger? I was on duty," he pressed.

"You're always on duty," she retorted, "Some wonder whether or not you sleep at all." With that bitter comment, she joined his side and both walked towards the castle with vague scowls.

They crossed the courtyard side by side.

Snape cast her a filthy glance but couldn't help notice she was scarcely dressed. Grudgingly he unclasped his infamous cloak and thrust it into her arms without looking at her. She caught it as a surprised reaction and looked between it and Snape, who revealed nothing in his expression.

Silently she swung the thick black cloth over her shoulders and donned the cloak.

Looking up at him from under her brows, she couldn't help thinking '_Arrogant, confusing bastard'. _

They kept walking through the stone halls without speaking a word until they arrived at her door. They both paused.

"I bid you a good night, Professor," Snape said courteously with a curt nod of the head, "I sincerely wish you luck with those second-years tomorrow," he added with a slightly amused sneer.

"Goodnight Snape," she replied politely, yet coolly, "I'm sure I'll manage." She mumbled her password to the door: 'Crumbs', and slipped inside. As she pushed the oak back into place she caught sight of him striding away and realized he looked strangely incomplete without his cloak... which she then realized she was still wearing.

"Professor!" but he did not hear her.

She shrugged and let the door click shut. She would hand it back to him tomorrow. Heaven knows that man had more than one cloak, although the one that was now keeping her warm was undecidedly her favourite. From the centre of the chain that clasped it together dangled a silver snake.

She pulled it off of her and folded it neatly, pressing her face into the folds and taking a deep breath before placing it on her desk next to her wand and quill.

Following her night-time ritual she went over the grand curved window with its elegant window-seat and picked a small white jasmine flower from the potted plant on the sill. She placed it by her bed for the aroma to fill her sleep, not that there was much sleep left to be had until dawn.

She slipped under the sheets and pulled them tightly to her chin.

Crookshanks suddenly appeared at the end of her bed and padded his way up to her and curled up against her stomach, purring in satisfaction. She gave him a few token strokes.

Sleep was quick to envelope her.

O

**The first two chapters were written two years ago… so forgive**.


	2. Chapter 1

The continuation of this story was inspired by: Sophia – The Cruxshadows and the TV series: Black Books. You could almost believe that Severus Snape and Bernard Black were cousins.

Chapter 1

O

Hermione was chewing disconcertedly over her marmalade toast, reading a recreational book on magical mythology when she gasped so suddenly and so loudly that the nearest three professors on either side visibly jumped. She dropped the toast without hesitation and leapt to her feet, snapping the book shut and abandoning her breakfast.

McGonagall had opened her mouth to speak but Hermione was already at the end of the table. She turned back to Flitwick, shrugged and continued their conversation.

Hermione brushed past Snape to lean over and whisper in Lupin's ear. "Follow me." Snape couldn't help overhearing or his curiosity; glancing at Hermione with faux nonchalance it was clear to see the girl had worked herself up into a fever in the space of half a minute.

Catching him off guard, she turned and spoke to him as well, "I believe you left something in my possession last night. Feel free to collect it whenever you will." Her words were perfectly weighed and spoke indifference.

He offered her a curt nod, which she returned before sweeping off, almost at a skip. Though he returned to his breakfast, his eyes followed her darkly.

Lupin waited only a few moments before scraping back his chair and flitting off after her. The insatiable puppy-dog. He was at her every beck and call, just like that other mutt he had found her with last night. He wondered momentarily if she was manipulating the two of them then shook it off. That would be too Slytherin.

She had told him that he may collect his cloak anytime he willed. And right now his curiosity was peaked. No time like the present.

A few more hesitant bites of his breakfast and he skulked after Lupin through the halls to Hermione's office.

As he approached the door he slid up against the wall. All he could make out where mumblings until he heard Hermione burst out in a voice that disclosed her unattractive pride: "the dance of the seven veils!"

Snape frowned.

When their voices became soft again he saw no point in remaining in his current position and slipped in through the door, earning an abrupt silence. It dragged out for several seconds.

"...Well?" he intoned scathingly.

"Oh! Right. Cloak. One second..." She dipped her head beneath the desk, pulled open a drawer and reappeared a moment later. "Here you are. I had the house elves clean it."

"There was no need." He walked to her desk slowly, testing the silence. When it became apparent they would not continue this conversation until he was most assuredly gone, he snatched the cloak from her hands without so much as a 'thank you' and cast them both a wry, calculating look before disappearing.

Lupin tutted. "Forgive his manners, Hermione. He means nothing by them." Snape grimaced as he heard this and left. _Foolish dog._ "You'll learn to ignore it as you're forced to endure more of his company."

"Lord, I hope not!" She scoffed and with a moment's silence turned the conversation back to the topic at hand.

O

Three hours later found her pacing back and forth behind her desk in her office. Remus had tried to be realistic and discourage her but she had an unshakable feeling about this. True, there had been obvious variations in the story of Ishtar between the magical and muggle worlds. But, she reasoned, the fact that it existed in both cultures substantiated the evidence and enough study might lead to a groundbreaking discovery… A means of visiting the dead.

However, Ishtar was a formidable sorceress and left no personal account of the land of the dead. No one had been able to recreate the spells she had used; as far as she knew, no one had ever tried. But if she could... This could be her life's purpose. The meaning she had been searching for and would mark her as a legacy. Her cheeks burned at the mere prospect.

This needed research. Lots of research.

With a soft smile playing at her lips she drifted down towards the library.

O

"WHO DID THIS?" Snape bellowed. The thunder of his voice rolled and echoed through the stone walls. Hermione realized that she was actually crouched behind a suit of armor in fear. She quickly stood up and brushed herself off. The dust clung to her crimson robes and she cursed to herself under her breath and mumbled a quick spell to rid her of the revealing stains.

When Snape was well and truly angry, no human being in their right mind would consider being within a hundred feet of him but curiosity would always kill the cat. She made her way to the source of the commotion.

As she approached the dungeons she became aware of Snape standing outside his classroom, his skin an unflattering shade of red and his hands curled into white-knuckled fists.

Hermione joined him and followed his livid gaze to the purple writing that scarred his walls.

"_King of Insects  
You eat your own  
Atop an anthill  
You call your throne _

Kingdom of one  
So unaware  
As one-by-one your subjects  
Vanish into air

Chatter to the wind  
Make your decree  
And save your venom  
For the ones who disagree

Your castle walls are falling  
Your body's frail  
Your window on the world  
Is minuscule in scale

Burrow deep now  
Escape the light  
Heaven forbid you have to face  
The ones you slight" (1)

"Actually, it's rather unique. I don't think I've ever seen such poetic graffiti before," Hermione speculated. Though her face was passive, the smirk was evident in her voice.

Seething, Snape hissed "Be it Byron, Thomas or _bloody Edgar Allan Poe_," he swung an accusing finger at the abomination, "someone needs to _pay._" The last word was barely audible and it gave Hermione a chill down her spine. She did not envy the poor bugger that had had the nerve.

He stormed off to find the headmaster, not-so-accidentally knocking into her shoulder as he went.

She watched his flowing robes whip around the corner and waited a moment before she grinned broadly. What an overgrown child! This was hardly worth the fit he was throwing, though she knew Filch would likely agree with him on this one. Could it be the sophistication of this insult is what got to him? She knew he would probably have been less upset over a badly spelt slur of swear words.

She sighed, scanned the poem once more and left to return to her research in the library.

O

Hermione had been pouring over several very rare books from the restricted section. When she had pulled them down she had been almost certain at least one of them would contain something, once sentence at least. She sighed and lay down her quill.

Now. She needed to think. The magical version of Ishtar stated that she was no more a goddess than Hermione. In fact the details varied so greatly it could badly affect the story's credibility.

Ishtar was a beautiful dark woman. When, by chance, her lover was chosen for the annual sacrifice to ensure the wellbeing of their crops, Ishtar wept and raged but could do nothing to change the situation. Her lover, Thamus, was determined to go on with the ceremony. After seeking advice from Thamus' mother, she decided to let the ceremony go ahead, with the intention of bringing him back afterwards. Through religious teachings she had learned that there were seven deities to pass, each requiring payment. The story was inconsistent as to whether it was jewelry or dresses that she chose to give or even whether the dresses had to be a certain color in a certain order. All stories agreed that under the aid of some sort of magic (most believing it to be some form of potion) she was able to dance herself into a trance in the temple and her dancing feet brought her to the gate of the underworld. The subject of ferrymen requiring gold was also brought up but only vaguely and Hermione worried this could turn out to be an issue.

Suddenly Hermione's blood chilled. She could hear breathing close over her shoulder. She jerked around only to bring her face within inches of Snape's.

When she saw it was him she breathed a heavy sigh of relief and observed, not without a tinge of amusement, how he retracted sharply at the sensation.

"Oh. It's just you."

"Perceptive, as usual, Granger," he snapped, straightening. His eyes scanned the way she seemed to lean protectively over her notes. "Should I conclude that you are hiding this particular item of research from someone?"

"You might say that," she muttered, looking away. "It's just a personal project of mine," meeting his gaze.

With a quick glance at her papers he leered, "Am I to understand you wish to substantiate _mythology_..?" He asserted slowly.

"Not substantiate, no." She averted her gaze again.

He decided to let the matter drop. She was becoming increasingly guarded about what she told him, though this only served to further arouse his curiosity.

"Have you caught the culprit yet?"

"Alas, no..." His face coloring, it seemed he was restraining himself from snapping at her. "Minerva sent me to inform you that a certain visitor with four paws and a tail has just arrived." He observed with mild disgust curling the center of his being at the manner in which her features lit up at the mention of that mutt. "Shall we..?"

With cold disdain, he watched Hermione stuff her notes and parchments into a sack which she promptly chucked next to the fireplace. The bag, which was clearly labeled as hers, would end up in her office in a matter of minutes, no doubt.

He frostily offered her a hand to help her rise which she turned down with a shake of the head.

Together they left the library, shoulder to shoulder. She may not like Snape, but he had his uses. One of them was that whenever she walked at his elbow in this manner it reasserted her teacher's influence. Some of the students saw her as more of a friend than a force to be reckoned with. Whenever she was seen with Snape, forming a mobile wall of authority, the students parted beautifully out of her way.

Snape was bemused by the confident smirk she wore while walking next to him. It was most unbecoming on her.

Why, he speculated, she almost reminded him of himself. He immediately erased that disturbing speculation from his mind.

O

(1) The lyrics to a song: King of Insects by Assemblage 23.

The song in my head: The internet is for porn – Avenue Q

Reviews make me generous!


	3. Chapter 2

This chapter spawns from: The Chorus of the Furies – Faith and the Muse

Chapter 2

Hermione woke up and swung her legs over the bed. After a brief stretch and fussing of the grumpy cat she bounced into the shower. Last night she had had a revelation. If it was a potion that Ishtar had used, which it probably had been, she had an idea of where to begin. The potion was obviously one to induce a state of trance but the peculiarity of it was that it took physical exhaustion in order to bring on the desired state.

It had hit her as she was beginning to drift off to sleep: Sufism! Why hadn't she put the two together immediately? Dancing oneself into a trancelike state... She had to research all she could about the magical aspect of Sufism. There was bound to be a potion of some kind which would give her a firm place to start.

It was only six in the morning, but as soon as Hermione was dressed, she rushed out of her rooms and headed for the library without even stopping for breakfast.

O

Lupin was worried, Snape could see, and it didn't take a certified genius to figure out why. Hermione had missed almost every meal for the past two weeks. Snape had an inkling that this was related to whatever "personal research" she was doing. The look on Lupin's face at mealtimes suggested he did not support her ideas.

The secrecy of it was infuriating. The insufferable girl was attempting to add value to her research by keeping it so private. Impertinent child! But he couldn't deny the itch he had to know.

The other professors showed a professional level of unconcern, which struck him as odd. Those snuffling nosey animals could never wait to leap on a piece of gossip if it would keep them entertained in the staff room for another hour or so.

The only remotely bearable character among them was Minerva, but with her being Headmistress they no longer had time for a simple discussion on occasion. He snarled briefly in their direction as he made to leave the table.

A hand snatched at his black robes and he hissed. Wheeling on professor Lupin he lashed out "What!" in his sharpest tones, earning him freedom from Lupin's grasp.

"You're looking rather agitated Snape," clearly not the point he wanted to bring up. Snape folded his arms across his chest.

"What of it?"

"Is something particular bothering you?"

Glaring, he replied, "No. Nothing _particular_ is bothering me."

"Good... Good." He said distractedly. Snape had had enough of his dancing about the topic at hand.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Lupin! If you're so worried about the girl why don't you get her mongrel to analyze the situation for you? Are they not," he paused, "...close?" The werewolf lost his look of hopelessness momentarily. "I'm sure Professor Granger is in no immediate danger in any case."

"That's not a bad idea..."

"Of course it's not!" He retorted hotly, before spinning on his heels and in a flurry of black cloth vanished out of a side door in the great hall before he had to put up with anymore senseless noise. How he loathed dining in the great hall... That ceaseless din!

Taking Snape's advice, Lupin wolfed down the rest of his breakfast before returning to his chambers to write a letter to Sirius.

O

Hermione did not want to be disturbed; the sign hovering in front of the door to her office said as much. When she heard a soft but persistent knock at her door she slammed her quill flat against the desk, sighing as loudly as she could so that whoever had come to irritate her might get the hint.

Physically dragging herself over, she flung the door open abruptly. She wasn't prepared for what she saw.

Nothing. Nobody was there.

She yelped and jumped backwards as something furry and warm brushed against her mundane robes and then heaved a sigh of relief. Sirius' company was always more than welcome; for him, she was willing to put off anything. She closed the door behind him and locked it.

"I cannot possibly phantom how you became so adept at knocking in that form," she told him affectionately. Sirius just wagged his tail at her, a sign of his delight in seeing her. She leaned against the door to shut it with her weight. "But, Sirius, you can't stay long. I have so much to be getting on with..."

A wicked glint lit up his eyes. "That's exactly why I plan on staying as long as possible." She cocked a brow at him and drifted back over to her desk. "Where do you think you're going?" he said indignantly, catching her wrist to halt her.

Looking at him in a way which caused him to literally quail, she said through gritted teeth, "to finish writing down my ideas before I entertain you."

He gave her a forlorn look but complied, relinquishing her wrist.

She swept back to her desk, sat down with a harrumph and refused to look him in the eye for a full ten minutes. While the long seconds ticked by, Sirius just stared at the top of her head, waiting patiently and pondering how it was possible for someone to bend over a desk so uncomfortably all day and still walk with a straight back.

After she had written a parchment's worth of "ideas", she sighed and dropped her quill, without lifting her head.

"How long will you keep staring?" she asked wearily.

"As long as it takes, 'Mione." His lips curled into a grin. Hermione didn't have to look up to know this.

"If I stop now, you'll never let me start again, will you?"

She finally raised her head and met his dark eyes. She must stay strong in the face of temptation. Here was the physical manifestation of the devil himself and he wanted her to take a break. She would not have it.

Instead of replying with one of his teasing comments he looked at her seriously. "What are you working on Hermione? Is it really more important than your health... or your friends?" Hermione dropped her gaze and bit her lip.

"I don't know what you mean, Sirius; I'm in perfect health and I'm as much your friend now as I have ever been," she said sincerely.

"Not according to Remus. Apparently you've been missing meals. I can see it too; you're becoming skin and bone before my eyes." She hissed, incensed. He held up a hand for patience. "I just wanted to see you eat a full meal and relax a bit in order to set both our minds at ease."

Hermione's brow creased. "So, if I comply this once, you'll leave me be concerning my... daily routine?" She regarded him critically. There was friendly insincerity in his smile and nod. She continued to watch him with a frown.

"Of course, Hermione, would I lie to you?" She snorted, but as he said it he reached for her hand and leaned forward to place a kiss on her forehead. She melted and conceded, letting his gentle pull guide her to the armchairs by the crackling fire.

With Harry and Ron's death in the war, Sirius had become her confidant and closest friend. Once she had mistaken it for more and she shuddered to remember the gentle way he had let her down, telling her that her feelings were confused. She dropped the subject and never brought it up again, though it seemed to always be there. She had never believed what he had told her and still felt weak at his touch. If he noticed, he never said anything.

He grabbed a pinch of floo and ordered a 'healthy-sized' portion of dinner for two. Hermione rolled her eyes at him fondly. The house elves told him it would be ready in about ten minutes, when dinner started in the Great Hall. Hermione thanked them genially but they shied away from her, painfully remembering SPEW.

Returning to her chambers, Sirius brushed off the dust on his ragged robes. "Right!" he said, clapping his hands together. "Where's the booze?"

Hermione gave a half-hearted sigh and pointed at a cabinet to his left, between bookshelves.

With a flash of a toothy grin in her direction, he plunged his head inside and resurfaced with a bottle of Firewhiskey.

"Oh, no. Not with dinner."

"Fine, after dinner. Meanwhile, a glass or two of wine?" he smirked, quirking a brow.

"Anything to keep the infant quiet..." she muttered under her breath.

"I heard that." He shot a half hurt, half disapproving look.

They ensconced themselves back in the armchairs by the warming glow of the fireplace. He poured them each a glass of red wine and they clinked glasses casually before both leaning back in their chairs to savor the taste. After a moment Sirius broke the comfortable silence.

"Did Snape appreciate the present I left him?" It was all Hermione could do not to spill wine all down her front.

"That was _you_?!" she sputtered. He simply nodded. She couldn't speak; she was frozen, countenance a mixture of anger and amusement. She couldn't decide whether to be put out or pleased. In the face of her ongoing turmoil he barked his unique laugh.

"Your facial expressions are priceless, especially when you're warring with your morals."

Hermione decided on 'put out'.

"Aren't you a little old for these pranks?"

"Is that a rhetorical question..?" She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"That was rather a poetic choice on your behalf. Was it a means of throwing him off your trail?"

"Hermione! You think me so low as not to be able to employ someone else's poetry?! I'm truly hurt..."

"Prove it!" she snapped, now scowling.

At the command he carefully placed the glass on the coffee table and morphed into his animagus form. Hermione eyed the massive dog skeptically as he lay his head between his paws, laying his ears flat against his head and commenced a long whimpering sound.

Hermione slapped her hands over her ears, pinching her eyes shut. "Alright, alright!" His head pricked up. "I believe you; just stop pulling the puppy tricks on me!" When she opened her eyes again Sirius was reaching for his glass, humanoid once more.

"Why did you do it?"

"I couldn't resist. When I found the poem it became my new life purpose to make sure he and it became... acquainted."

Hermione pursed her lips and gave him a steely glower.

"What was his reaction? Please spare me no details," he begged eagerly.

"You are despicable."

"Yes. That's why you love me." _Curse his wicked smirk!_

Hermione offered a wan smile before sipping on her wine.

After a pensive moment she smirked, "You do realize I'm going to have to tell him." She felt comforted by knowing she had the upper hand once more as a look of horror spread across his face.

O

An hour or so later found them with full stomachs and almost a third of the way through the bottle of Firewhiskey. The subject of conversation was still Snape.

"He's not an enigma, Sirius. He never was. It's _easy_ to see what he really is." Sirius kept quiet, sipping his drink. "He's a monster." She said it with such finality that he choked. "His actions, his behaviour, his intentions and his actions," she continued, unaware of her repetition, pointing a finger at him, "are all _base_. He defends his territory and his pride like an _animal_! I'd be very surprised if he had the emotional capacity of an ice-pick!" She paused. "But he is beautiful."

Sirius frowned.

"You're drunk, Hermione." _Very_, he thought.

"No." She said quickly, followed with a slightly more certain, "No, NOoo," she slurred, shaking her head and finger at him. "I'm just tipsy, is all. But I meant every word I said." The world spun for a moment. Maybe she had shaken her head too hard.

"Why do you drink Firewhiskey? I'm sure it's much too strong for your system."

She looked at the bottle as if questioning it herself then back to her friend. "Because it makes me numb!" she said, lightheartedly, throwing her hands up in the air in defeat. "I can't even feel my tongue anymore; look!" and she pulled her tongue out and proceeded to poke it to prove her point.

He chuckled, "It's not worth it if you're going to call Snape 'beautiful'!"

"You did?" she blinked. "Yeah, I agree with you, Sirius." She nodded furiously. "He _is _beautiful in some ways. He possesses such divinity and poise in his movements and deliverance that it makes it hard to see the baseness of his character."

"Too many words, Hermione. I don't think you've had enough to drink." He poured more Firewhiskey into her glass.

"Maybe you're right." She flashed Sirius a guilty look, "My tongue's not _really_ numb," she muttered apologetically.

"We can fix that." Both friends broke out into self-satisfied grins.

O

The next morning found her groaning, hand pressed to her forehead as she glowered at the fuzzy labels in her potions cabinet. _Now if the words would stop vibrating for a moment... Ahah! Wait, no..._

She had an appointment today with an old Sufi wizard and she chanted curses for Black and his entire ancestry that spawned him, not forgetting to mention any possible future children, just to be on the safe side.

She was still cursing him mentally as she went down to breakfast: ..._his children's elbows and his children's shins! May their toes be exceedingly hairy and their spouses have genital warts...on their ears!_

The result was a very bitter-looking Hermione scowling all through breakfast and earning herself some wary glances from students who had afternoon classes with her and curious looks from staff members. She was oblivious to this as she tried to see just how many times you could stab toast with a fork before it fell apart.

Snape was the only one who seemed to find the display rather amusing. Remus just sat next to him, hardly touching his food and repeatedly glancing at her.

After what seemed like the four hundredth glance her way, Snape coolly put his fork down and addressed the werewolf.

"Pull yourself together Lupin," he growled earning him a shocked and guilty expression. "She's a grown woman and can take care of herself. The last thing _any_ human being in existence wants to deal with is you, making yourself sick out of worry. It's hardly constructive," he added disdainfully with a sneer before turning back to his breakfast, ending the one-sided conversation.

O

He saw her leave.

Immediately after breakfast he had caught sight of her figure. He didn't need to see her face to know it was her with her ivory traveling cloak floating behind her in the April breeze. There was excitement in her gait.

Snape snorted. _Probably off to scamper around with her pet._ The thought got under his skin. Did the woman have no decency? She had classes in the afternoon. How could Minerva allow this to continue..?

With a growl he stalked back down towards the dungeons.

O

A/N: Sigh... writing these bits is almost painful because I want to get to the good parts.

Oh well, please review. Makes me happy and if we can reach the 63 mark before chapter ten (which doesn't look like its going to happen) I promise not to kill off one of the two main characters. (The ending is still uncertain, some things aren't going to change no matter what, but there's still plenty of room for character death, angst and pink things (shudders) though I'll avoid the pink at all costs.)


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry it's late, but it's not as if I have you hanging on tenterhooks.

If this chapter comes off slightly sloppy, it's because I've had a grand total of eight hours sleep in the past 3 days and sat through seven hours under exam conditions. IB screwed.

O

She knocked tentatively on the door and the heavy oak it swung open smoothly under her touch.

"Welcome, child," was the sound of an old man's voice. She saw nothing but entered cautiously. The door swung shut behind her and she found herself in complete blackness in the foyer of this Sufi wizard's mansion.

"Lumos," she muttered and soft glow immediately lit upon a presence next to her that was so dilapidated in appearance that she started. The wizard had snuck up on her with stony silence and once she regained composure she saw that he was nothing to be afraid of.

The wizard held a snuffed out candle and candlestick in one hand and his face was composed of so many wrinkles that it was a wonder she could find his eyes. A long white moustache ran down his face, giving him an air of dignity, despite his shrunkeness. His overall aura was one of intense benevolence.

In the face of such overwhelming age, she was willing to let the demeaning address to slide.

As she observed him, she realized she was under deep scrutiny herself. Seemingly satisfied, he nodded and gestured her to follow him.

He still held out his lifeless candle before him, much to Hermione's bemusement.

"I understand that I am to provide you with some critical information for your research. What I do not understand is how it relates to my religion," he said as they moved into the light of the living room, which contained windows, thank heaven.

He gestured to an armchair politely and she sat.

"I'm not familiar with how wizardry has affected the practice of Sufism. I decided contacting an expert would be the fastest and most effective way to uncover as much as possible on where I should commence my research."

He placed the candlestick on a side table and frowned contemplatively, easing himself into his chair opposite her.

"Well then, child, ask me your questions. I am glad that I might be of any use in my current state."

She smiled softly at him and began her interview.

"Are there any potions, charms or such methods of inducing the trance-like state brought on by physical exhaustion, such as the state induced by the Sema ritual?"

His wrinkled hand curled the corner of his moustache delicately between his fingers.

"There are many such potions, child. Perhaps if you were to expand on what it is you are looking for, I might be of more assistance."

"Oh, certainly, though I must ask you not mention my ideas to anyone else. I cannot see how they would be taken seriously in any account anyways."

"Not a problem, not a problem," he said, shaking his head, conjuring a tea set out of the air as he did.

"Okay... Are you familiar with the story of Ishtar?" 

"Very." He looked doubtful but remained silent, handing her a steaming cup.

"I was hoping to recreate to potion Ishtar might have used: a potion that creates a gateway for the spirit but not the body and it is probably only activated by physical exhaustion."

His white furry brows shot up at this.

"My child, your ambitions are truly phenomenal! I can only wish you success. There is such a potion that might be of some use, though it hardly opens a gateway. The potion is designed to dislocate the spirit from the body. I'm sure if it were combined with some other form of transitional potion you might be able to transport the spirit. However, like Ishtar, this potion does require meditative dance, not just any physical activity."

Hermione snorted ungracefully, almost choking on her tea.

"Dance?" He shot her an amused look.

"As you are a woman spinning alone would probably be lacking in meditative quality for you. You'll need to find or create a dance that is both meditative and expressive. The only dance I can recommend would be belly dance but you'd have to focus on the aspects that mimic circular motion. After all, both the microcosmos and macrocosmos follow a circular design."

Hermione wriggled uncertainly in her chair. She wasn't the best dancer. She could pull of ballroom dancing with a lot of practice but she had never really tried much else.

"Anyone can learn to dance, my dear. Why! I could even learn to belly dance if I so desired." Hermione wasn't sure if it had been an intentional joke or serious advice so restrained her grin to a tight smile.

"What is this potion called and do you know where I might get the instructions?"

"The potion is called Phasma Abrumpa and I possess a copy of the instructions. I will willingly surrender them to you if you stay for crumpets. I confess these halls get rather lonely."

"Gladly!"

"Accio Potions Transa Geçmek!" A book came whizzing through the air and into his outstretched, wrinkled hand. He nonchalantly blew some dust off the cover and handed it to her. As soon as the heavy tome was in her palms she eagerly flicked through the pages.

The old man watched with curiosity the way in which her eyes devoured the words on the page.

"I admire your thirst for knowledge," he spoke after a while.

Hermione raised her head and blushed. The book was hers now and all he wanted in return was some company; instead she had been too absorbed in its pages.

"No, child, it is nothing to be ashamed of." She continued to blush and without words to come to her assistance she picked up a crumpet and took a massive bite out of it.

She felt naked under his penetrative stare, albeit a very kindly one. He reminded her eerily of someone.

Sensing her reluctance to speak, he tried changing the topic.

"Have you realized your future mate?" It lacked subtlety but it got her talking.

"What?!" she sputtered, sitting straighter with a look of confusion.

"A mate, a better half. You have already met him... or her. (Modern societies these days.) But I am not sure whether you've realized who it is yet."

She frowned but tried to keep her tone polite. "Why do you say this?"

"You are familiar with Albus Dumbledore?" Hermione now began to question the sanity of this man. Perhaps long years alone had brought on a case of senility that had been undetected. Albus Dumbledore and true love did not generally happen to fall under the same category.

She nodded slowly.

"He was a friend of mine." She was resigned to finish her tea and leave, now entirely unbalanced and doubting that his word was valid. "He and I both discovered the power of essence through the art of Aurellis." _Now what was he talking about?_ "Oh yes. It allows for so much more than legillimency. Though the details are amiss, all that is need is to be in the presence of someone and their emotions, the recent events that stirred them and their achievement in terms of their destiny become apparent."

Hermione's ears pricked up at this.

"Are you saying that we define just how much of our "destiny" will actually occur."

"Of course! How can you expect things to happen if you sit at home all your life? Your destiny is a combination of who you should be with, what you should be doing and how happy you are."

"And this is how you sensed that I have met my partner already? That I even have a partner?"

"Certainly. It is a very useful skill. It took me years to master but it was worth every effort. Animagi generally say the same thing but I don't see much benefit in possessing the availability of an alien body. Do you?" She thought of Pettigrew but said nothing. So this was how the Headmaster just..._knew_ things.

"Hmm..." she said thoughtfully, finishing her tea.

"But, my dear, your aura is very clouded. I cannot determine your exact status."

"Sirius..." The word had barely escaped her lips in the form of a sigh.

His brows shot up. "Oh, so you know who?"

A rush of uncertainty overcame her and she averted her gaze, only responding with a vague "Perhaps…"

"I sense your confusion, child. There is much of your destiny left to fulfill."

"Perhaps," she reiterated, frowning at nothing thoughtfully.

O

She needed a walk outside. It had been a grueling day. She could not understand what fantastical resource spurred Lupin's never-ending patience. She was more prone to becoming irritable rather quickly with students who acted as most students do: childish and obtuse, either stating the bleeding obvious or rejecting her logic. She was partial to be biased to the students that listened to her in class. Those seventh years who remembered McGonagall's teaching all called her the 'portrait'. She was partial to the slur.

As she left through the Entrance Hall, the wind hit her face and almost knocked her over with the force of its chill. The weather at this time of year was so capricious. She wrapped her dark cloak around herself tighter.

She stood on the first step, eyes closed, and just enjoyed the sensation of the cool night air striking her face.

When she opened her eyes they filled with hot tears that slowly overflowed and ran down the edges of her face. She looked blearily at the stars and wondered what her life would be like if Harry and Ron were alive today.

The tears bloomed more rapidly and she bowed her head, lowering herself slowly to sit on the highest step. Her closest friend was a man she believed herself in love with. The feelings were obviously not mutual and if, according the Sufi, he was her match, then she would remain in this state: alone. That wasn't to say that she could not function without attention, but she had always harbored hopes of having someone close to her to share her experiences with, to share her life with, to make her feel wanted.

She had only one other friend in the world and that was Lupin. The poor man had enough to worry about each month without her petty problems.

She gasped in the night air and held her shoulders in a gesture of self-comfort. A place deep in her chest was aching. She hadn't known the ache was there until the Sufi had spoken. Maybe it wouldn't be there tomorrow. All she needed was to cry it out, to purge it from her system.

With that in mind she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and proceeded to cry with abandon.

She had cried for a full ten minutes before...

"Good evening, professor granger."

She stiffened, knowing full well who the voice belonged to. With a glance his way with bloodshot eyes, she turned away, hiding her face. However, he was set on being civil.

Snape had seen her crying figure from the hall and after a moment's deliberation had marched purposefully up to her; he resolved to help in the only way he knew how: pretending nothing was wrong. 'Martyrdom is an interminable duty,' he thought solemnly.

"I fancy this bit of fresh air will do you more good than you realize." She didn't move. "Would you prefer if I left you to wallow?" It slipped out before he could stop it; it seemed his tongue worked before his mind. She cast him a filthy look over her shoulder.

"What do you want?"

"I seek nothing and am not disappointed, Granger. Those words might be of some use to you, although it would appear that they have been delivered too late."

"Why do I have the feeling that that is not your only personal mantra?" she snarled derisively. The tears had stopped; he had put her on defensive. _Good._

"Indeed it is not." Looking down his nose at her, "Though that one appears to stand out from the others at the moment, especially in the face of your obvious disappointment in something," he said. She sniveled. "Are you incapable of interacting in a simple dialogue with myself?"

"This 'dialogue' with 'yourself' just makes me want to hex something," she snapped. When all he did was cock an eyebrow she elaborated, "It's not something I'd expect you to understand." He sighed impatiently, closing his eyes.

"Do you insist on reverting back to your childhood on this night, Miss Granger?" he stressed the deliberate mistake in her title.

"I did nothing to merit your company," she retorted hotly. "When you're done provoking me, please leave quietly."

"I cannot when there is a puzzle waiting to be solved. This puzzle lies before me."

"There is no puzzle. _Do not_ objectify my emotions! It's a matter of the organ which you are not in possession of!" she burst out, almost screaming at him and he was nearly bowled over by her rage, "There! Does that reestablish your child-like perception of me sufficiently? Now will you leave me the hell alone?" She curled up once more on the steps, cowed by her own wrath, wrapping her red robes around her tighter.

The suppressed grin did nothing to help his normally severe tone.

"Ah, I see." He took to sweeping around her slowly. (_Drama king._) "The mongrel."

He could not hold back the smirk in the face of her sheer mortification.

"Come now, Granger," he drawled, stopping in front of her, "Do you really think you are the first to fall prey to the charm the man oozes from his pores? I'll admit I am not entirely astounded at your lack of sense."

She glared and looked at her feet, resolute on the matter of regaining her cool and any dignity she might have left after that childish outburst. That man! How could he wear such a calm expression, like he was skilled in the art of tolerance! His expression spoke both exasperation and condescending patience.

"Don't do me any favors, Snape. Your observations are as unwelcome as your overbearing presence." He pretended not to hear her and it aggravated her all the more.

"The man made you feel... _comfortable_ in his presence, something alien and appealing to you, did he not?"

She was unnerved.

"Yes, Granger, you are _that_ easy to read."

"Why..." she couldn't finish her question but it hung in the air.

"Being near him supported your confidence and you always relished the sight of him, so, naturally, you assumed this stemmed from a form of attachment?" She opened her eyes and gazed at him in disbelief. He didn't need words to know he had hit home. She was stunned; he had more or less repeated Sirius' words, though somewhat more articulately.

A psychoanalytical Snape? The thought was satirical in itself! It was impossible to phantom he had an understanding of the fundamentals of humanity.

He fixed her with a piercing stare.

"My dear," he said and she flinched at this condescension, "you know nothing of the endless levels of turmoil so pitifully grouped under a single category, eloquently referred to as "love". I assure you that not only is the experience far more painful but it will change you in character, for better or worse." He ran his eyes over her. "Miss Granger, you remain as exasperating as ever."

She was looking at him oddly and he knew he had just made some horrible, irreversible mistake from the way she seemed to come to a silent conclusion.

To her, it was like seeing him for the first time. He towered over her on the steps, as intimidating in form as he could ever hope to be, despite the lack of the trademark scowl. She saw... a broken man, a broken man who had hastily tried to stick the pieces back together so that he was the perfect image of his jagged remains: sharp and dangerous, though he tried to hide it.

Though her big heart belonged to many people, no one more than her two dead friends, she managed to find a tiny sliver in which to cram her sullen ex-professor into.

Unthinkingly, she threw herself at him in a paroxysm of compassion, wrapping her arms around his chest and burying her face in his thick black robes. He stumbled and attempted to resist; he leaned back from her as though she was diseased and tried to pry her away.

"_Kindly remove yourself from my person_," he stressed in a voice that would have curdled the blood of any seventh year. It was Hermione's turn to ignore him. Failing that, he let her hug him with a sigh, rubbing his temples.

When the warm thing's shaking had subsided, he placed an ashen finger under her chin and lifted her face to look him in the eye. She would have looked a picture of helplessness with her big eyes had it not been for that irksome knowing behind them.

"You think me soft now," he sneered, but it was decidedly without malice. She snorted.

With a firm and final squeeze, she stepped back.

"Heaven forbid, no. Not soft... just _human_," she said gently and walked back up the stairs, placated.

Under his breath he muttered unintelligible things that sounded a lot like: "...perfect poster-child for Hufflepuff... sorting hat needs a good visit from the maiming fairy..." but he instantly checked himself when Hermione whirled round and glared daggers at him.

O

Then Hermione flung aside her years of prejudice and intimidation and Snape's contempt abruptly evaporated. She cried: "Snape! You're so dark, brooding and mysterious!" Snape growled: "I know I am," in a silky voice. Hermione screamed: "Take me now!" and the two snogged the living daylights out of each other right there and then for no real reason until one of them made the astute observation that they should 'shag each other senseless 'til kingdom come'.

I loathe stories that follow that line of thought ("Up with this, I will not put!") which is why Awkward Feelings will be taken down this summer. I can't read three lines together at one time of that thing. Forgive me, I wrote the thing four years ago when I had no life or friends.

I hope I haven't come too close to this but Hermione needs to gain some level of respect for him, and I believe her character in the HP series has more than enough courage to hug the potions master if she wanted to.

I haven't made Snape nearly as cold as I'd imagine he'd be... but if he were how I picture him... then there would be no romance. His arrogance and assurance of his superiority would cause every person to be a mild hindrance on his daily life. He hates all who do not bow in his presence. He walks the halls of Hogwarts (no, not struts) with an air of disdain but his façade is one of pained, never-ending patience, which is enough to piss anyone off. The thought makes me drool. He wields words with the grace of a sword and plunges into the hearts and minds of unsuspecting dunderheads with them. He is not an awkward softie. Many women in Knockturn Alley would kill to get their hands on him. Sometimes he is aware that he is almost entirely incapable of being anything else but lays eye on a hormonal teenager and feels grateful. In my mind, his character is so powerfully rounded that he could be dusty blonde, short and in a brown suit and still be a formidable force of bitterness and contempt.

Balls... a mini commentary on Snape. Oh well.

**Again, this is writing practice only. I would appreciate comments on style: methods of improvement or aspects which you found appealing.**

_Malacia_


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